Wand Woods
by Lavender Flame
Summary: The wand chooses the wizard, they say. And the wand-maker chooses that wand's wood. For each, a different meaning, and a different purpose for its owner. Five wand woods, and five stories.
1. Black Walnut

**Author's Note: This little oneshot collection I'm writing is for the Wand Wood challenge on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum. I signed up to write a oneshot for every wand wood (each one a prompt), and this is for Black Walnut (write about a character having to accept/face a truth about themselves). Enjoy!**

_Black Walnut_

Remus Lupin generally has no problem admitting that he's afraid—except when it comes to something concerning someone other than him. Even at all of ten years old, he isn't ignorant to what his parents want, and that's to see him off to Hogwarts. They're scared too, of course, which is why he makes himself insist that he'll be fine at school, to soothe their fear.

So he gets sent off to Hogwarts.

How will he ever make friends? He's a werewolf. He's a _werewolf._

Three boys sit with him on the train that day. Two sit across from him—Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, but one sits right next to him. "James Potter," he introduces himself, and shakes Remus' hand enthusiastically. "I'm going to be in Gryffindor. What house will you be in?"

"I don't know," Remus tries quietly, since everyone looks at him and he's squirming under the pressure. "Gryffindor?"

James cheers.

Wait until he finds out about Remus' little secret.

/

It just isn't _fair, _he sobs in his mind, as the transformation takes hold of his body, feeling like it's tearing all of his limbs off, his organs out of his torso, winding his muscles and bones around each other and sucking out his blood.

They call where he is the Shrieking Shack now.

He does scream, a lot—awful awful wails of pain reaching agony, and he weeps for himself and his parents and his friends that don't know about this.

The transformations at school are some of the longest nights of his life.

/

The first time Remus goes to an Order meeting, he feels scared out of his mind. But why? He knows a great deal of the people there already. He has no reason to be afraid. He scarcely talks at that gathering. Instead he sits almost impossibly still, but with his folded hands shaking in his lap.

These people accept him. Everyone says so.

But he doesn't really believe it.

They don't know him, not really, and most of them never will. Those who do know must have a tainted opinion of him, or maybe he's just being paranoid. Yes. That has to be it. Because that's what James and Sirius and Peter always said.

And Remus Lupin trusts his friends.

/

He's a teacher, now, looking out on the great hall from the professor's table, and he's not talking to anyone. Who is there? Half of them were _his _teachers—talking to them just seems awkward and not right. There was dear old Snivellus, of course, and Dumbledore himself… no conversing there. Hagrid takes Remus under his wing, and if he's honest with himself, it earns him no favor.

But he doesn't mind the giant. Maybe he understands some.

The students don't really get him either, but he doesn't seem to be disliked. The professors mostly accept him, but other than the Order members, little more.

He talks idly, and watches Harry and his friends over at the Gryffindor table. Slytherins stare at them and laugh. No surprise there. _Some things never change, _he thinks. The house points and Quidditch scores tell the story well.

/

Remus doesn't fancy himself the type for love. He's just not suited for it. He is suited for looking at pictures of old companions and spending the days drinking tea and eating chocolate and reading the Daily Prophet by the fireplace. He is not suited to late nights out and romance and sharing a bed with someone.

Let alone Nymphadora Tonks.

His best mate's little cousin, with the bright pink hair and clumsiness and way of being too young and too delicate and too _good _for him. Bloody _brilliant. _She doesn't seem to mind. She insists she likes being with him.

Being with him. What was that supposed to mean?

/

Always his mantra: _too old, too poor, too dangerous._

"Don't be depressing," she teases him easily. "You're not even forty and you have more money than any of London's beggars."

"More money than a beggar," he says. "That makes for a delightful and charming companion, does it?"

"It does."

/

She looks so bloody _hurt _when he leaves her that he learns how the word "heartache" was made. He does feel lonely, and misses her more than anything, but in a way, he's also relieved. No more worrying about somewhere far away to go for the transformations. No more having to control his outbursts around the full moon. No more worrying about accidentally doing something _stupid _and ruining her life.

But no more love for him, he decides.

/

It doesn't last long. There was always a small part of him that thought, _hoped_, that it wouldn't. He gives in to her. He can't fight anymore. It's all worth it, for Dora. Who was he ever kidding? Maybe he is suited for love after all.

/

Some acceptance of his life's boundaries has hit him. It's not easy, but if he doesn't let himself think too much, some of the pressure lets up a bit. He stays awake late one night thinking about it, pretending to read a book. The thoughts swirl around and around, making him nauseous, and he tries to avoid looking out the window at the waxing moon. It only ups his anxiety.

Remus sets the book down on the nightstand, turns off the light, slides down to be under the covers, rolls onto his side and tries to sleep. Tonks is peaceful and still beside him, breathing slow and even. He wishes he could sleep like that. But he hasn't been able to since he was just a child. And pining does him no good.

He works on relaxing each sore muscle in his body one at a time, counts sheep—no, no, no sheep, then—and ponders what he pretended to read in the book set down next to him. He tries to match his breathing with Tonks'. It doesn't work.

_We're too different; _the thought comes in a panic. But tonight, he can ignore it. He's not going down that road again.

/

Later, he will die feeling only acceptance.

He will accept that he cannot be the father to Harry that James and Sirius couldn't be.

He will accept that he and Nymphadora could never have a fairy tale love story.

He will accept that Fenrir Greyback changed his life forever.

He will accept that fitting in was never his strong suit.

But he will also accept that he had found some happiness in his life, short as it may have been.

**End.**


	2. Walnut

**Author's Note: This drabble is for the Walnut prompt (write about a Ravenclaw), so I chose Luna Lovegood. I promise I'll write something for this collection that's a bit different eventually…. But, enjoy!**

_Walnut_

Xenophilius Lovegood is concerned when he first hears that he'll be having a child. So many of the children he's met have rejected him and his wife… will their own child? No, no, that can't happen. It just won't.

/

It doesn't. Their daughter is born as the couple holds hands and the father looks out the window at the moon, so she's named Luna. Luna Lovegood. The name is perfect, and Xenophilius beams as he holds his little girl in his arms.

They'll be fine.

/

When the child's mother dies, they're both heartbroken. But in healing, they grow closer. Luna grabs her father by the hand and takes him around the hill they live on, pointing out every little living thing. _Living _thing.

Her eyes shine gray and silver and full of life as the sun sets over them.

Xenophilius swallows his tears.

/

There comes a year she gets on the Hogwarts express and is spotted by Harry Potter, who keeps on walking. She wonders for a second why.

She wears a dress and a Butterbeer cap necklace and a surprised smile, and she waves at the next people to walk by, their robes wearing a logo with green and the color of her eyes, and they scowl, walk by as well.

Luna goes back to her upside-down magazine.

/

"_Expelliarmus_!" she chants gleefully, waving her wand in delight as her opponent's wand flies away to hit the wall. They're safe here, in the Room of Requirement, with the security of Dumbledore's Army protecting them.

But she won't always be so sheltered.

/

It's cold, and dark, and Luna Lovegood isn't one to cry, but now she does, bringing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself and sobbing the cries of a little child into her skirt, soaking her dirty blonde hair in tears.

More than anything, she longs for warmth and sunlight and a view of something outside of Malfoy Manor. She tries to comfort the wand-maker beside her sometimes, but she only has so much left in her.

She thinks of Harry and Ron and Hermione and Neville and Ginny and—and everyone.

She thinks of the Christmas party and commentating for Quidditch matches and dancing with her father at Bill's wedding and riding the Thestrals and going to the Quidditch World Cup and comforting Harry over Sirius and Dumbledore and his parents. She thinks of lots of things.

Luna thinks of rainbows.

/

Afterwards, she's not really sure what's real, and what's not, but was she ever?

/

Her life turns surprisingly normal after the War. She gets married, has kids, becomes a naturalist. But the nights are long and dark and cold, and make her think of the basement too much.

She sleeps with the light and heat on and tries to keep from screaming.

/

Later, she is still pale and accepting and her patronus is still a hare. But she has changed—some things just _don't _exist, she realizes, but some things are still true:

A circle has no beginning.

**End.**


	3. Cypress

**Author's Note: This drabble is for the Cypress prompt (write about a pure-blood), so I chose Theodore Nott (and kind of Draco Malfoy). I've been in the mood for shorter pieces lately, so here this is. Enjoy, and please review.**

_Cypress_

Theodore was supposed to be a pure-blood and a Slytherin and a son of a Death Eater through and through, but he didn't really want to be any of those. Of course, he didn't want to be a Mudblood or a Gryffindor or a son of an Auror, either. He just wanted to be Theodore. Theodore Nott. Ted. Mr. Nott. Ted N. Just a name.

Draco didn't really understand that, because he was so damn _proud _to be who he was, that just being "Draco" wouldn't suffice. He liked being important and special. He didn't understand why Ted just wanted to blend in even if he had more talent than Draco would ever have, even if neither of them would say it.

But they got along well. So neither minded when their fathers sent them away to wander the grounds of Malfoy Manor and talk together instead of doing anything with a _purpose. _Draco minded it a bit more, but still not enough to protest. Maybe it was just that he wasn't as pleased with the Manor as Ted was. But the gardens were beautiful, they had to admit.

Ted wasn't really _anything_ on the outside—he was stringy and quiet and his hair always stuck up almost like Harry's. He liked it like that.

They walked; Ted dragged the toe of his boot through the grass.

"Hate this weather," Draco said, gesturing to the silvery, overcast sky. "So bloody unpredictable."

Ted shrugged. "It's all right."

Draco still sneered and scoffed, but Ted felt somewhat at peace. He liked the simple joys in life, more than anything that was more than what it was.


	4. Willow

**Author's Note: This drabble is for the Willow prompt (write about someone with potential who's underestimated), so I chose good old Neville, of course. Hope you like it.**

_Willow_

Augusta Longbottom could not have been prouder of her son and daughter-in-law; nor could their fate have been sadder. The Death Eaters, Bellatrix—they couldn't have just killed them, could they? No. And they even let them have a few months to get attached to their son, so tearing them away from him could be made worse. Frank and Alice might have been better off dead, Augusta thought bitterly. Better that, maybe, than tortured to insanity and locked up in St. Mungo's. Better that than the case where they could have given up information.

But still, they had been brave and strong, dedicated members of the Order and high-up Aurors all the while.

Their son, however… she could think of him as nothing but a failure, a disgrace to the family name. She spent forever thinking that he was a squib, and she did not really intend to be proved wrong any time soon.

_But she would be._

/

Neville's Uncle Algie has always been protective over the boy, but still seems to be questioning his magical abilities. He's good at Herbology, but no one can take that seriously, not really, can they? Of course not.

So Neville gets thrown out a window, screaming and terrified, but bounces off the ground, to safety.

He _is a _wizard.

That doesn't change Uncle Algie's opinion of him.

_But it would be changed._

/

The first time he goes on something even close to a date is when he is fourteen. And it's not a date. They're going as _friends_, him and Ginny, to the Yule Ball. But it doesn't stop his hands from sweating a bit, his voice shaking. She's obsessed with Harry, everyone knows that. He knows that this can't be anything meaningful.

But he enjoys himself. They fumble the slightest bit while dancing, because he's left-handed and it clashes with her right, and she laughs at him. She means well, Neville thinks, but it doesn't always come out that way.

Later, she's one of the first people to hear that he's fallen in love with Luna Lovegood. Ginny's also one of the first to hear that he's marrying Hannah Abbot. She's happy for him, but doubts his skill at marriage.

_She'll learn, too._

/

When Draco Malfoy attempts to hex him, Neville feels at first terrified, but then pushes the flash of fear away, much more easily than he could have before. Malfoy doesn't see that, doesn't see that Neville's changed a bit.

He doesn't see Neville break the prophecy, and he doesn't see Neville's newfound bravery. Not a lot of people notice it, really.

Neville doesn't mind. He'll show Draco, one day.

/

Bellatrix Lestrange is the one person Neville hates more than anything. Not fears—hates. With a burning passion he didn't quite know as possible.

Her threats and taunts do nothing for her, in the end. She dies, at the hand of a "stupid old Weasley" and Neville lives on. He has never felt so happy in his whole life. Did she learn anything about him, before she died? Maybe not, maybe so.

Neville's just glad she's dead.

/

After third year, when Neville sees Professor Snape walk out of a boggart chest and casts a spell to make him be wearing his grandmother's clothes, he has trouble sitting through Potions with a straight face. But he's still terrified. One day, he gets a potion right.

Snape doesn't seem to make any note of it, and yes, that sends a slight pang through him, but he's proud anyways.

Hermione claps him on the back and says, "Good job, Neville. Told you you'd get the hang of it someday."

/

Neville did prove all six of them wrong, in the end.


	5. Beech

**Author's Note: This one is for the Beech prompt (write a story with Hermione as the main character). It came to me in a few minutes in English class, a kind of montage, flashback-y thing…. Enjoy, and please review!**

_Beech_

That awful moment when she realizes everything hits her hard.

She remembers getting the letter from Hogwarts, the first time everything changed, and her perfect little world with its perfect little balance shattered, for better or for worse. She was terrified at leaving home; but she was always a Gryffindor, so she went.

The Sorting Hat's words and decision showed it, "_Gryffindor!" _She had thought that she would be a Ravenclaw, but she was wrong.

The troll. Harry, Ron. The professors rushing in.

The giant chess game, with the stone pieces breaking and scattering over the tiles, her heart running a few miles without her.

Lockhart, and the idiot he turned out to be. The blood writing on the wall, Moaning Myrtle, the awful Polyjuice potion, the Basilisk—

Then there were the Dementors invading the train, the Quidditch match, and saving Sirius, Buckbeak, and maybe Hagrid too even if they didn't know it then. Crookshanks and "Scabbers", Hogsmeade without Harry, the time turner.

The Quidditch World Cup, Victor Krum, the Triwizard Tournament, and "Moody" and Cedric and Voldemort's return.

Fifth year. Grimmauld Place and the Order of the Phoenix, Harry's hearing, Umbridge, Dumbledore's Army, the Inquisitorial Squad, the Department of Mysteries… Sirius.

Then there was the mysterious Potions textbook, Harry's meetings with Dumbledore, Katie Bell, the Slug Club, Ron playing Quidditch, the Death Eaters… Dumbledore. Snape. The tower. The letter. The horcruxes – the end of Hogwarts for them.

Everything that came after: the seven Harry's, Mad-Eye, Hedwig. Bill and Fleur's wedding, Kingsley's patronus, _"They are coming,"_, the searching, Ron's leaving, Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, Dobby, Gringott's, the battle. _Ron._ When they thought that Harry was dead. But they had won.

But so many didn't.

Fred, Remus and Tonks, Colin, Snape, and so many others…. Even from before, there was Sirius, Moody, Dobby, everyone...

After the War. Ron, Hugo and Rose.

She realizes all of it as the Hogwarts Express leaves for another year, another _peaceful, _blissful year. Their children will never know the horrors their parents did.

Hermione is thankful for that, _every day, every hour, this very minute…._

**End.**


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